


Slowly Someone Suddenly

by Lady_Vibeke



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Mick Rory is a Softie, Mild Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Unconventional courtship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 13:23:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20528732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Vibeke/pseuds/Lady_Vibeke
Summary: Mick inhales sharply. Caitlin feels him tense. When he finally turns to her, their faces are so close Caitlin can feel the cold of his iced beer on her lips.He glances down at her mouth, the tip of his tongue tracing his lips, and when his eyes meet hers she can see the fire flaring in his blown pupils.He grabs her chin, quite roughly, and tilts her head back to narrow his eyes at her.“Don't say I didn't warn you,” he whispers, then his lips clash against hers, and something in Caitlin's lower belly ignites.Fuck everything,she groans to herself as she dives into the kiss with Mick's hand taking possession of her hip.She's glad her common sense is dimmed, right now, because in normal conditions she would have backed away from this in a blink, but this... this is exactly what she needs now, and if it's a bad idea... well, this is going to be Sober Caity's problem in the morning.ORIn which Mick and Caitlin drink, have sex, cook, bond, fall in love. Peculiar plant exchanges are involved.





	Slowly Someone Suddenly

**Author's Note:**

> I've fallen in love with this ship, and with Mick in general, it seems. Pardon the absurd length of this oneshot, but I was afraid that if I split it like I've been doing with my other recent work this was going to end up out of my control. So here we go.

_I think I should know how to make love to something innocent_  
_ Without leaving my fingerprints out_  
_ Now, L-o-v-e's just another word I never learned to pronounce_

  * Starstrukk, 3OH!3

***

Caitlin has already downed several shots of tequila when she realises someone has sat down beside her. She feels the _warmth_ before she senses the presence, and when she turns around she finds Heatwave staring at the empty little glasses lined on the counter in front of her. He frowns.

“Where're your friends?”

His gravelly voice scratches the muffled air around Caitlin, bringing a bit of lucidity back to the surface. She definitely isn't used to drinking.

“Barry took off with your partner in crime,” she says, very displeased with how the words come out thick and drawled. “Not sure about Cisco. Probably busy with your _other_ partner in crime.”

It was supposed to be a chill night out, but it lasted only about half an hour before the gorgeous Snart siblings walked in and ruined everything. Caitlin can't even blame Barry or Cisco: Cold and Glider are criminals, but very hot and very charming criminals, and her friends are only human. Sort of.

“_Everyone_ seems to be busy, tonight,” she sighs, and gestures the bartender for another drink.

She sees Mick's mouth curl in a corner. “'xcept us, huh?”

Caitlin is seriously tempted to ask why he's considering her at all. He has several pairs of very interested eyes ogling at him from all over the pub.

“You _could_ be busy. I'm pretty sure that blonde over there is mentally undressing you right now.”

Mick casts a lazy glance to where Caitlin is looking and chuckles. “Not my type,” he mutters, and Caitlin wonders what his type is, if a hot bombshell isn't. She's trying to string the concept into words, but Mick speaks first: “Haven't you had enough of those?”

Caitlin considers the empty shots before her with a perplexed winkle of her nose: they can't be _all_ hers. She hasn't had that many. Has she?

“Mind your own shots.”

“I can handle my shots. You? Not so much, Snowflake.”

Caitlin glares at him with an outraged pout: “Don't be fooled by my slurred speech: my head's dizzy but my mind's very clear.”

She doesn't sound like someone whose mind is anywhere near clear, which is probably not a good signal to send out to someone like Mick Rory. They're enemies, after all: he could take any sort of advantage of this situation.

But Mick doesn't seem interested in pursuing his criminal vocation, tonight. He's just sitting there sipping his beer and judging Caitlin for her ridiculous alcohol tolerance. Could be much worse.

“I'll drink to that,” he says, raising his bottle to Caitlin.

Caitlin clinks her glass with it – rather automatically, really. She wouldn't normally lower her guard like this with the enemy, but apparently tonight is _'fraternise with a Rogue'_ night, so why shouldn't she do what Barry and Cisco are already doing?

Well, not _exactly_ what they are doing.

“You haven't spiked my drink, right?” she asks suspiciously before she lets the glass touch her lips.

“Why would I do that?” asks Mick, not even bothering to look offended.

“To take advantage of me,” says Caitlin. The finger she is pointing at him is blurry, it splits in two before she blinks and squints it back into focus. Maybe she _is_ slightly drunk. _Slightly._

Mick smirks. “I don't need to get you drugged to get you into bed, Snowflake.”

“No?”

“No.”

And it's a rather attractive smirk, honestly. It's probably because Caitlin is feeling so frustrated and touch-starved in this very moment, but the more she looks at Mick Rory, the more she realises what it is about him that is collecting all these horny stares from women and men here and there.

It's the aura of pure strength he emanates – his massive build, the glare in his eyes, the impression of something burning deep inside him all the time – and perhaps the complete lack of consideration for the world around him.

And yet, and maybe it's the alcohol making her see things, Caitlin detects a hint of loneliness in the way his shoulders sag forward as he drains his bottle and pushes it away.

_What the hell,_ Caitlin thinks. She gulps down her final shot and slams the glass on the counter. If Barry and Cisco are doing what she thinks they're doing with Leonard and Lisa, why shouldn't she have some fun, too?

As nonchalantly as her _slight_ drunkenness allows her, she slides a little closer to Mick. His body heat is intense on her naked arms, so much it makes her wonder if he's running a fever or something, because average human beings do _not_ feel so hot.

“What're you doin', kid?” Mick asks when she starts leaning towards him in a way she hopes can be perceived as seductive.

“'m not sure,” Caitlin mumbles as her hand runs up Mick's thigh and, fuck, is this man made of marble? “I kinda wanna have sex with you, right now?”

Mick scoffs. He doesn't even turn to her, just orders another beer and keeps drinking.

Caitlin's hand stubbornly ventures further up his thigh. This time, Mick shifts in his seat with an uncomfortable grunt.

“You need to stop this right now, before you make me do stuff we'll both regret.”

Caitlin is basically plastered around his arm by now, and his reaction fuels her alcohol-induced boldness.

“What's holding you back?” she purrs in his ear. This is how Lisa usually talks to Cisco to make him all flustered and perhaps it works with Mick, too. “I thought you crooks didn't have a conscience.”

Mick inhales sharply. Caitlin feels him tense. When he finally turns to her, their faces are so close Caitlin can feel the cold of his iced beer on her lips.

He glances down at her mouth, the tip of his tongue tracing his lips, and when his eyes meet hers she can see the fire flaring in his blown pupils.

He grabs her chin, quite roughly, and tilts her head back to narrow his eyes at her.

“Don't say I didn't warn you,” he whispers, then his lips clash against hers, and something in Caitlin's lower belly ignites.

_Fuck everything,_ she groans to herself as she dives into the kiss with Mick's hand taking possession of her hip.

She's glad her common sense is dimmed, right now, because in normal conditions she would have backed away from this in a blink, but this... this is exactly what she needs now, and if it's a bad idea... well, this is going to be Sober Caity's problem in the morning.

*

She wakes up feeling hot and sticky and with a throbbing headache. As awareness comes to her, she gradually picks up the little details that make no sense: the sheets feel coarse on her naked body; there's too much light in the room; the mattress is too soft; the person she's draped upon is huge and _so_ warm...

Something clicks.

Pub.

_'Fraternise with the Rogues'_ night.

Drinking with Heatwave.

Sex with Heatwave.

A lot of hot, wild sex.

_Oh my god._

The panic rises but is instantly wiped away by the abrupt return of sparse but very detailed memories of last night. She blushes to her toes when she remembers how much she screamed; Mick Rory might be a despicable human being and a terrible, _terrible_ choice for a one-night stand, but she has to concede he knows what he's doing in bed. All in all, perhaps this wasn't _entirely_ a mistake.

Caitlin stirs sleepily, pushing the thoughts away. It feels too good to be just lying here, sore and exhausted and _satisfied_ like she hasn't felt in ages, and it's Sunday, so there's no rush. No rush at all.

Mick wakes up a moment later. He yawns wide and lets out a long, blissful sigh. Caitlin feels his fingers brush against her arm.

“'mornin',” he greets, and it's weird, because he makes it sound like it's perfectly normal for them to wake up together after a night of great sex.

“Uh, good morning,” she greets back, a bit unsurely. This is awkward, but not as awkward as she would have thought. Which is... interesting?

“Did I hurt you?”

Caitlin blinks. Mick's eyes are still closed and he looks like he's still half asleep.

“No,” she says perplexedly. She did scream a lot, but it had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with Mick's intense... talent. “It was... good.”

”There's blood between your legs.”

“Oh?” Caitlin swipes a hand inside her thighs. She flinches when she finds trails of dried blood. “Oh. I didn't realise-”

“You weren't a virgin, were you?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Uh.” Mick seems relieved but still isn't moving an inch, eyes closed, breath calm. “You better clean yourself up and get outta here before Len and Lisa get back. Wouldn't wanna compromise your reputation.”

If Leonard and Lisa are currently in the same situation Caitlin and Mick are, she highly doubts they'll be getting out of bed before noon, especially if they're half as _talented_ as Mick.

“Are you kicking me out?” she inquires indignantly. It's not like she expected breakfast in bed and cuddles, but...

“Just a suggestion,” Mick conveys with a shrug.

They lie there for a while in silence. Mick's fingers trace absent circles over Caitlin's arm and back, not so much a tender gesture but rather as if he enjoys the softness of her skin under his calloused fingertips. The feeling is quite mutual.

“For the record,” Caitlin says. “I knew what I was doing. I wanted this.”

Mick snorts out a sarcastic half a laugh. “Yeah? You wanted to be drunk fucked by a man you don't care about and who doesn't care about you?” He opens his eyes to cast a look at her naked body, at the grazes and bruises scattered all over her milky complexion. A bitter grimace twists his mouth. ”Congratulations, Snowflake.”

Caitlin pulls herself up on one elbow to be able to direct her annoyed glower directly at Mick's face: “I'm a big girl and I can make my own decisions, thank you very-”

She sees his chest. His arms, his hands, his neck...

Her stomach tightens.

“What?” Mick snaps.

“Your skin,” Caitlin breathes. “I had forgotten-”

Mick rolls his head to the other side, his features darkening. “Don't look.”

“Why not? It's just scars,” Caitlin objects, tracing her fingers over the uneven pattern of his marred skin. It's beautiful, but she's not sure it's the right thing to say to someone who seems so uncomfortable with it.

“Yeah, right,” Mick grumbles, but doesn't ask her to stop.

She's had enough medical training to figure out on her own how he got these scars. By the pattern and the thickness, it must have been at least a second-degree burn, if not worse. How could Mick love so much something that devoured him like this?

“Did it hurt?”

“Yeah,” says Mick after a pause. “Wish it still did.”

“Why?”

“Pain's good,” he says, and something in the way he says it makes Caitlin shiver. “Keeps you goin' when nothin' else does.”

There's so much there, waiting to be said beneath such a thin layer of indifference. Caitlin knows a thing or two about running on pain when everything else fails you. She can't help wondering what lies in this man's past, what sort of demons he has buried alive.

“There are better reasons to hold on to,” she offers, because this is the only piece of advice her experience allows her to give.

Mick turns to her. His eyes are dark and cold and hard. There's no emotion in them when he says:

“Gotta have them, though.”

*

Mick guesses the cute doctor chick must have been really desperate to stoop to spending the night with him, of all people. He wonders is she wasn't heartbroken because she has a crush on one of those two losers Len and Lisa are sleeping with. Or dating, whatever. No difference, to him.

Sex was good, and the kid did seem to enjoy it, but he doesn't like how her tender body bruised so easily under his touches.

He likes hurting people, people who deserve that, and this does not include innocent doe-eyed girls who never did anything wrong in their entire life.

This is what he does, though: he makes people bleed. He makes people hurt.

His touch is poison.

His hands weren't made to touch delicate snowflakes.

*

Caitlin stands before the mirror in her bathroom and watches the marks on her body trying to associate each of them with flashbacks of how she got them.

The hickey on her neck – Mick's lips were so hungry all over her outside the pub while they were trying to make it to her car.

The bruises of fingerprints on her hips – he held her so tight when he pressed her into the bed.

The dark spots around her navel – he sucked them just before he-

Caitlin bites her lip as a reminiscence of what happened next sparks a flare of arousal between her thighs.

Mick wasn't gentle, but he didn't _hurt_ her. Not the way he thinks.

For some reason, she feels like she needs to make sure he really knows that.

*

On Monday, Barry and Cisco show up at STAR Labs with insufferable self-satisfied grins plastered across their faces. Caitlin has to bite her tongue for the whole day not to snap at them as they argue about which Snart is a better partner.

“Maybe you should switch Snarts for one day and find out yourselves,” she suggests when she's had enough of their bickering. Fortunately, this pretty much settles the argument. She's got too much on her mind to put up with this nonsense any further: she doesn't want to hear about the Snarts; she wants to know about Mick Rory's scars and the story behind them. The person behind them.

She's still thinking about it on her way home two days later. She just got into her car when she remembers something and decides it's definitely not just an excuse if she has an actual reason to knock on Mick's door. Barry and Cisco mentioned a double date with Leonard and Lisa, so she decides it's a good night to go.

When Mick opens the door he's wearing an apron and is wiping his hands into a kitchen towel. So this is what Heatwave looks like in domestic mode. It's amazing how much the absence of a big bad gun can change a person's appearance.

He takes her in head to toe, fairly unimpressed.

“What're you doin' here?”

Not exactly a warm welcome, but it's not like Caitlin expected one.

“I think I forgot my bra,” she says. She's glad it's not a lie, because she would have never been so smart to come up with such a good one.

“Huh. Lisa said it couldn't be hers: too small.”

“Well, can my small breasts have their buddy back?” Caitlin retorts, blushing at the idea of Mick and Lisa discussing her body behind her back.

Mick steps aside, invites her in with a nod. “Knock yourself out.”

Caitlin enters. She didn't pick up much of the apartment, last time: it's nice, a bit too minimal for her taste, but she guesses home décor isn't exactly the top concern of the three people living in here.

“What's this amazing smell?”

“Chili,” Mick says as he heads into the kitchen. There's a big pot on the stove; he dips a wooden spoon into it and stirs a few times.

“Are _you _cooking it?”

Mick quirks a brow at her: “You got a problem with that?”

”No, it's... I'm impressed. I thought you were more like the barbecue type.”

To her surprise, Mick lets out a low laugh.

“No shit,” he says, throwing the towel over his shoulder. He's wearing a very flattering t-shirt under his apron: its tight cut highlights the sharp lines of his biceps and pectorals, showing off the ripple of every single muscle.

Caitlin has to look away; her mouth is getting dry.

Mick lingers for a moment around the stove, then seems to decide the chili needs another stir. Caitlin is staring, mesmerised by his movements, when she hears him ask:

“Do you, uh... D'you want some?”

Caitlin gapes. “Really?”

She shouldn't. She shouldn't but wants to. It's beyond her to figure out what is drawing her so much to this man, but she's here, and it's dinner time, and she's been invited... might as well accept a free, home-made, delicious-smelling dinner. It's a harmless proposal, after all.

Without waiting for her to say yes or no, Mick grabs two plates and two glasses from the cupboard and sets them on the table.

“No big deal, okay?” he warns with a mild threat in his voice.

Caitlin nods vehemently.

“Sure. Absolutely.”

She's having dinner with Heatwave.

She _wants_ to have dinner with Heatwave.

What the heck is she even doing?

*

So Heatwave is an awesome cook.

Caitlin wolfs down three plates of his to-die-for chili and a handful of tortillas under his disbelieving yet quite amused eyes and compliments him every other bite. When Mick offers some ice cream, Caitlin is so full she has to decline, but she volunteers to do the dishes.

“I'll wash,” Mick states grumpily, snatching the dirty plates from her hands. He carries them to the sink, then seems to regret his rudeness, because he casts a sort of apologetic look at Caitlin and says: “You can dry.”

“Deal!”

The mere concept of her standing here washing the dishes with Mick Rory is so alien and absurd Caitlin can't stop grinning. She feels strangely at ease, considering the arguable choice of company. There's a lot she needs to figure out about this situation.

“About the other night...” she begins.

“Sorry if I was too rough,” Mick cuts in dryly. “Ain't used to handlin' dainty things like you.”

Caitlin anticipated a number of developments for this conversation, and an apology was not among them. First, because it doesn't seem like Mick's style at all; second, he doesn't even owe her one.

“It's okay, Mick,” she reassures him. “You didn't hurt me. Not in a bad way, at least.” The memory of the pleasant soreness he left in her is still quite vivid in her memory.

Mick hands her a clean glass. Cailtin has a question itching on her tongue.

“Why did you do that?” she asks abruptly. “Sleep with me. I mean, I know _why, _but... there were a lot of gorgeous women in the bar.” It's true. And it's not that Caitlin thinks she's not pretty, but she was definitely not the prettiest lady in there. Mick lives with _Lisa,_ for heaven's sake: he must have quite high standards. “Why me?”

The way he looks at her intently as he weighs her question makes Caitlin feel quite exposed.

“There was somethin' about you,” he says slowly. “Seemed like you needed that.”

“I... did,” she agrees, a little dismayed. She's surprised he noticed her mood, especially with who knows how many beers in his system. Maybe Mick isn't the dumb hunk of meat he wants to pass as.

“We could... do that again, sometimes.”

There must have been something in the chili, because Caitlin is pretty sure she just asked Mick Rory to have sex with her again, and this is simply crazy. And embarrassing.

To Mick, it's neither of those, though. If anything, it makes him grow suddenly cold.

“I'm not your fuck buddy, kid,” he says colourlessly, then resumes scratching the pan where he cooked the chili. “We keep doin' what we did, I'm gonna wreck that tight little body of yours.”

Caitlin's cheeks burn. Does he really _have_ to use such a language?

“That's not the only way, you know?”

“Nice and slow?” he scoffs. “Not my thing.”

“Ever tried that?”

There's a couple of seconds of silence before Mick curtly says: “No.”

“How do you know, then?”

“You wanna turn me into a gentleman?” he snickers, but she isn't going to let him sass his way out of this.

“No.” She puts her hand on his. “But there's more to sex than violence.”

Mick stops washing. He lets the pan sink the foamy water and stares at his scarred hands with empty eyes.

“My whole life is violence.”

There's no self-commiseration in his tone, probably because he doesn't think there's anything wrong with violence marking your whole life, but the point is that there is. It's wrong to know nothing but violence, everyone deserves more than that. Even him.

“I know,” she says softly. “It shows.” Her heart breaks a little when she realises it's true: everything Mick does, everything he says proves how little kindness he's known. He turns slightly towards her and Caitlin is already leaning forward, moved by invisible strings, but Mick jerks back, tears himself out of her grip and takes a step away without even looking at her.

Caitlin gets the message. And this – not everything else, but _this..._ _this _hurts.

“Thanks for the chili,” she says hastily. “It was really good. I should really go, now.”

She leaves the wet towel on the sink and grabs her coat from one of the chairs.

“Snowflake,” Mick calls before she reaches the door. Caitlin waits.

“You don't touch people like me and get outta it clean.”

Caitlin turns around, sends him a stubborn glare: “I'm not afraid of getting my hands dirty.”

Mick smirks, but it's a weak and sad smirk.

Caitlin sighs and slams the door behind herself when she leaves.

She doesn't even know why she's even bothering. Mick Rory isn't the only man on the planet; she can find someone else, if sex is really what she wants.

Yeah, _if._

*

She proves herself to be true to her words.

Next time they meet at _Saints & Sinners,_ she wastes no time and drags Mick to the back alley in a rush of sloppy kisses and hungry moans.

He rips her panties away and fucks her into the wall, fuelled by her cries of pleasure and her nails digging in his neck. He's thick and she's tight. She's bleeding again when he pulls out of her and throws the condom away. She says it's okay, but it's not. He's not proud of himself. He had sworn this would never happen again, but something about this girl – her spotlessness, her innocence – ignites an ineffable fire in him, flames that burn deeper than ordinary desire and touch dark corners of his soul he had never even been aware of.

“This is not okay,” he mutters as she rolls her dress down and smooths it over her legs, covering the streaks of blood on her inner thighs.

“This is perfectly okay,” she counters. Her face is still flushed from her orgasm and there's a light sheen of sweat of her neck ad chest. She looks even prettier in the afterglow, even more tempting.

“No, it's not. You wanna have it hard, you gotta find someone else. I'm done.”

He strides away, trying to understand what this annoying weight on his chest is. Caitlin tags along, struggling to keep up on her heels.

“What is wrong with you? I thought you didn't care about me!”

It takes Mick one second too long to snarl back a curt: “I don't.”

His hesitation bewilders him. Makes him wonder.

He _doesn't_ care.

He never cared about anyone and he certainly doesn't care about this spoiled little girl who likes to play with fire. He doesn't know why he even gave up to her provocations in the first place.

“Mick, wait-”

The touch of her hand burns on his arm. He bluntly shrugs her off himself, speeds up his pace.

“Thanks for the fuck, doll. It's not gonna happen again.”

As a man who has always lived with a sizeable baggage of crimes and sins and never had a single problem with it, he's feeling inexplicably _dirty._

*

“You're acting weird,” says Lisa, sprawled against Len with her legs thrown over Mick's lap. They're going to get a bigger couch, sooner or later.

“Bullshit,” Mick spits back, all his attention focused on the stupid space movie rolling on the TV.

“She's right,” presses Len. “It pains me to say this, but you look like an old kicked dog.”

“We need to find someone for him” Lisa muses, licking ice cream off her spoon. “We've been going out too much, lately. Should we spend more time with you, baby?”

She rubs a foot over Mick's leg, stealing a lopsided grin from him.

“Enjoy your toy boys and leave me alone. This place is heaven when you're outta the way.”

If they knew what he's done in here while they were gone... Not the sex, that's no big deal for any of them, but if they ever found out he had Caitlin Snow over for dinner they'd never let him hear the end of it. Even if it didn't mean anything,

Once he's sure the talking is done, Mick relaxes back into the couch and takes a long sip from his beer.

He flexes his fingers, trying to dismiss the itchy feeling he has in his hands.

It would be very useful if he could stop thinking about Doctor Snow's soft skin and the look in her eyes when he turned his back to her in that filthy alley.

*

Guilt wins.

It's humiliating, because Mick honestly believed he was stronger than that, and yet here he is, at the seventh floor of this fancy condo with a box in his hands and not the slightest idea why he came here.

He rings the doorbell and there's just a faint click before the door opens and Snowflake's pretty face appears before him. This kid really needs to take her safety more seriously.

“Mick?”

He doesn't know why she calls him by his name. Does she expect him to call her _Caitlin?_ It's a silly name.

“Snow.”

Caitlin arches her brows. “Hey?”

It takes him a moment to realise she's in her pyjamas. Without her make up on, she looks even younger than she is. It's not that early, he thought she'd be ready for work by now.

“You liked my chili,” he says, as if this explained in any way his showing up at her doorstep at eight in the morning.

“I did,” Caitlin confirms more and more perplexedly.

Mick hands her out the large Tupperware he's holding.

“I brought you some.”

“Did you, now?” Caitlin takes it and her perplexity quickly morphs into a big smile. “Thank you.”

If Mick was physically capable of blushing, he's quite sure he'd be blushing right now. He doesn't like the effect this girl has on him.

Or maybe he does.

“No big deal,” he grumbles, clearing his throat. If he remarks this one more time it’s gonna get suspicious.

Caitlin nods firmly. “None indeed.”

She just stands there with her box of chili in her hands, and he just stands there with his hands in his pockets, thinking that this was a mistake and he shouldn't have come. He's already taking a step back to leave when Caitlin stops him.

“I was heading to Jitters for breakfast,” she says with a small shrug. “You wanna join me?”

Mick may be monumentally wrong and he's most certainly misreading the situation, but this sounds a lot like an invitation. The sort of invitation that involves a date.

He tells himself he should let her know he doesn't do this sort of bullshit, yet somehow all he hears himself utter is:

“What's a _Jitters?”_

*

Caitlin still has no idea what she's doing.

She's at Jitters. With Mick Rory. And it's surprisingly nice.

Mick has been watching her from over his cup of macchiato. He's silent and observant, like he's trying to figure out what's going on.

She doesn't know what's going on, either, but she's not half as guarded as he is, which, admittedly, is rather odd. Between the two of them, she should be the nervous one.

“The guy at the cash register's been giving you the heart eyes since we walked in.”

Caitlin picks up a crumble of blueberry muffin from her plate. “No, he's not.”

He is. He's cute and has been flirting with her since day one, but Caitlin has made it very clear that flirting is all he's going to get from her. She's flattered that Mick noticed, though.

Not only he noticed, she realises: he seems a bit annoyed by it.

“Wake up, kid. He's pretty, you should give him a shot.”

Caitlin puts down her cup. “I don't date people just because they're _pretty,” _she says with all the dignified indignation she is capable of.

Her response seems to genuinely confuse Mick.

“Oh.”

“What's wrong with you? You go out with a lady and you try to set her up with someone else?”

Mick's confusion intensifies. “You call this 'goin' out'?”

Caitlin breaks another bit of her muffin as she leans on the table with her elbows.

“Call it whatever you like,” she says with a small smile. “I'm here with you, I'm not interested in the cash register guy, or any other guy, for that matter.”

“I don't understand.”

“You don't understand what?”

“Why you're wastin' your time with me.”

“It's not wasted time if you're enjoying yourself,” Caitlin scoffs.

The tension on Mick's features melts into surprise. “You are?”

“Well, I'll admit the conversation would be much more entertaining if I wasn't the only one doing the talking, but we can work on that.”

“Work on that,” he repeats slowly, pondering the words. ”As in, do this again?”

“What a lovely idea!” Caitlin beams. She's glad he's starting to get it. “Saturday, same time?”

Mick observes her carefully, takes a piece of his cookie and pops into his mouth. He chews thoughtfully, never leaving her eyes.

“Did you just trick me into askin' you out?”

Caitlin bites her lip guiltily.

“Maybe.”

“Huh.” Mick smirks, something like in admiration painted on his face. ”I like your style, kid,” he says, raising his cup towards her. Caitlin smirks back and clinks her mug against his.

She might have no idea what she's doing, but she's doing it quite well, apparently.

*

When Caitlin shows up at his doorstep to return his Tupperware, Mick's tongue slips, in between an awkward thank you and a couple of even more awkward platitudes, and he accidentally invites her to stay for dinner.

He’s not sure where that came out from and kinda wants to take it back, but it’s too late.

“I’d love to!” Caitlin is saying enthusiastically. “If I’m not disturbing...”

“Len and Lise are out. It’s just us.”

“Oh. Great!”

Mick can’t help feeling a bit flattered by the slight dust of pink appearing on her cheeks.

He's made lasagne and Caitlin seems very intrigued when he informs her it’s a new vegetarian recipe he just tired for the first time.

It turns out better that he likes to admit, and Caitlin's little moans as she eats are the most flattering compliment he's ever received. She makes sure she also _tells_ him how much she loves his cooking, but still. Those are sounds he's never going to get tired of.

He doesn't really understand why she's here. She came all the way from across the city only to give him back a darn empty box she could have returned any other moment, and he doesn't want to _assume_ (honestly, what are the chances of a woman like her taking a shine to a man like him?) but there's something going to on, here, and he really wishes he could give it a name, because he understands nothing of this shit and not knowing what actually lies beneath Caitlin's smiles is particularly frustrating.

At some point through the dinner Mick has to face the fact that, for obscure, unfathomable reasons, sweet little Caitlin genuinely likes him.

Trouble is that, despite his crippling inability to prove it, there is a possibility he maybe – _maybe_ – likes her, too.

He's got no intention to admit that, anyway.

He's already put on coffee when he hears the main door open. He recognises Len's steps approaching and curses inwardly. What is the bastard doing here so early?

“Well well well,” Len drawls, leaning against the kitchen door. His eyes scan the perfectly laid table, the empty plates and person sitting in front of Mick. “Look what the crook dragged in.”

Caitlin smiles pleasantly. “Good evening, Leonard.”

She's relaxed and at ease, unbothered by Len's unexpected arrival.

“Doctor Snow,” Len replies suavely. “What a surprise to see you here.” His defiant gaze moves to Mick. “Mick, you could have said we had guests, I would have dressed appropriately.”

“You weren't supposed to be here,” Mick accuses from his chair.

“Change of plans. Lisa will be home in a few minutes.”

Mick wipes his napkin over his mouth, then drops it on the table as he stands up.

“Let's get outta here,” he nods towards Caitlin. He can handle Len's intrusion – he's a jerk but doesn't ask questions. Lisa, on the other hand... she's going to turn the evening into an interrogation.

Caitlin rises to her feet when Mick grabs her wrist but tires to hold him back.

“Mick,” she exclaims. “I really don't mind-”

“I do. Let's go.”

*

Caitlin follows him without blinking.

They walk for a while in silence and he's glad she's got comfortable shoes, because he can't imagine anyone walk this long on stiletto heels.

She takes his arm at some point, and it feels kinda good. With her by his side, people don't glare at him or move aside as he passes. It's like Caitlin's company automatically makes him appear trustworthy to strangers.

He smirks. He takes a mental note to mention this to Len and Lisa for their next job. He's pretty sure their puppies work just the same way.

“Why couldn't we stay?”

Mick sighs. He saw this coming. He's actually surprised she lasted this long.

“I don't like sharin',” he blurts impatiently.

“You didn't wanna share... me?”

“Why you smilin' like that? I'm selfish, is all.”

“Selfish,” Caitlin says amusedly. “Okay.”

“Don't over think it. Doesn't mean anythin'.”

“No, of course not,” she agrees in a patronising tone that irks Mick, at least until he realises she's deliberately teasing him.

“So, where are we going?”

“You'll see,” he says.

They walk until the end of the block, where the street crosses the river; on the other side, the fancy side of Central sparkles with its tall buildings and bright lights, mirrored in a rippling reflection into the water. A cool breeze blows from north; the area is deserted and silent, only the distant noises of the City vaguely disturbing the peace and quiet of the place.

Seemingly breathless, Caitlin is admiring the view with wide eyes and an open mouth.

“Mick, this is-”

“Don't say beautiful,” he warns. “You'll ruin my favourite spot in the city.”

“I won't say anything,” she promises, moving a little closer to him. He doesn't back away.

“Good,” he says instead. “You talk too much.” He tries to stifle the little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, to no avail.

He's never brought anyone to this place. He comes here when he needs to think or just be alone, away from people and traffic and life in general. Sometimes he just comes here because it makes him feel free, and for one who's been in and out of jail all his life it's not something to take for granted.

Being here with Caitlin means something. He doesn't have the guts to question himself about what this implies, so he focuses on the landscape – and on the soft, dreamy expression painted on Caitlin's face. He's rather positive she appreciates the unforeseen change of scenery: this is unarguably better than his kitchen.

They just stand there facing the river, the lack of useless talking making it much easier for Mick to accept this is the sort of romantic shit he's always refused to put himself through; here he is now, watching the night with a woman too young and too pretty and too smart for him.

“What's wrong?” he asks when he notices Caitlin has stiffened.

“Nothing,” she says, relaxing a little. “It's just- nothing.”

The wind ruffles her hair; she shivers.

With an impatient grunt, Mick shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over her shoulders.

“Oh.” She looks up at him, small as a child wrapped into his jacket, a smile dancing on her lips. “Thanks. You didn't have to-”

“Pretty sure I did.”

Caitlin's smile widens, gains a smug shade as she snuggles back against him. Mick's arm spontaneously find its way around her shoulders – protectively, possessively...

Could be either.

Could be both.

“Should I expect flowers soon?” she asks after a while.

Mick snorts. “Not really my style.”

“Weeds?”

“Duh.”

“Not even an ugly cactus?”

Mick conceals a laugh behind another snort. He likes this kid.

Oh, hell, he truly _likes_ her.

*

He’s walking past a flower shop the next day when he sees it – the saddest, ugliest thing he’s ever come across. There’s a yellow half-price tag on it. Honestly, it’s not worth a dime: he wouldn’t consider it if he was _paid_ to take it, but the ghost of a thought is buzzing in his mind.

It’s probably stupid, but...

*

When Caitlin arrives at STAR Labs in the morning, there’s a special delivery waiting for her at the entrance.

It's a half dead succulent – without a doubt the saddest, ugliest one she's ever seen – with a crumpled pink ribbon tied awkwardly around its vase. It looks like it was pulled straight out of a dumpster. There's a card attached.

_'Good enough?'_

No signature, but it's not like Caitlin needs one.

Shaking her head in amusement, she picks up her gift and happily places it on her desk under Cisco's puzzled gaze.

“The hell is that?”

Caitlin stares at her ugly cactus with a big, bright smile

“Flirting, I guess.”

*

Caitlin was never supposed to mention the thing.

In fact, Mick was kinda sure she would elegantly pretend she never received it. With hindsight, denial would have been easier to handle than her inexplicable enthusiasm.

“Thank you for the plant,” she says as they sit down at Jitters for their _not-a-date_ on Saturday.

Last time's table was taken and Mick was ready to kick away the two businessmen occupying it, but Caitlin said any other one would do, so he let her drag him across the room to a quiet spot, and here they are.

“What plant?” he asks as he slumps down into his chair.

“Oh, right.” Caitlin rolls her eyes. “I put it on my desk at work, just so you know. I named it Bessie.”

Mick doesn’t really know how to react to this. It didn’t even cross his mind that she would want to talk about _that._

He doesn't even know why he sent her that stupid thing. It wasn’t a nice present, not the kind girls usually expect from men; he’s sure Caitlin didn’t actually expect flowers, but when he saw the horrible cactus the temptation was irresistible. It had seemed like a decent, uncompromising compromise.

How she appreciated that, is beyond him.

“You named that dyin' thing?”

“Of course!” she says matter-of-factly. “It was a nice thought.”

Mick grunts. “It was lousy.”

“Could have been worse.” Caitlin shrugs with a shy smile. “Could have been nettles.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Mick half laughs despite himself. She's witty. He likes that.

Also, the way her nose crinkles is doing things to him. He gulps a generous sip from his coffee in the vain hope it'll burn away the flutter he has in his stomach.

So maybe he thinks she's cute. _Maybe._

And, oddly enough, she's _nice_ to him.

He's not the kind of guy who inspires niceness from people, let alone girls like Snowflake.

And yet.

He watches her stir her chai latte with a wistful expression that makes her eyes grow distant. As if she could sense his stare, Caitlin looks up.

Mick holds her gaze, waits, wondering what she sees when she looks at him, what makes her _look_ in the first place. It's not much his appearance he's worried about but rather what's beneath: the crimes, the sins, the thick layer of grime coating his soul...

What if she looks too deep and realises it's too dark in there?

“I could...” she begins, nibbling at a corner of her lip. “I don't know, buy you dinner, maybe?”

Mick blinks. “Why?” he asks stupidly. Why does he need a reason? She's the one who's supposed to watch out with him, not the other way around.

“For _not_ sending me a dying cactus.”

“You're welcome. Just don’t get used to it.”

Caitlin nods. “Absolutely. No biggie.”

Mick tries not to grin at that.

He can lie to himself all he wants, but, whether he likes it or not, he’s growing dangerously fond of this girl.

And this cannot be good.

*

The next morning, Caitlin arrives at work and finds a very fancily wrapped composition of nettles waiting for her at the reception.

“First the cactus, and now this?” Cisco exclaims indignantly. “Did you offend someone or something?”

Caitlin ignores him and happily positions her nettles into a vase next to Bessie. This time the card says: _'Not sure I can do worse.'_

She doesn't stop smiling for the rest of the day.

*

She texts him:

_ Fair warning: if we ever get to brambles, I'll consider it an open declaration of love._

In a matter of seconds, Mick replies:

_ noted_

Then, after a moment, he starts typing again:

_ what about roses?_

Caitlin chuckles. She sends him a disgusted emoticon, then adds:

_ Ew, lame!_

_ Don't insult me!_

Is it weird that she can picture Mick's exact expression behind every text she sends and receives? Also, is it normal that she's feeling warmer and warmer inside as the conversation progresses?

_ better stick 2 stinging poisonous stuff?_

Texting shouldn't make her so happy, Caitlin reasons as she sends her reply.

_ Please, do._

Mick sends a thumbs up and a snowflake.

_ got it_

_ hey snowflake_

Caitlin grins.

_ Yes?_

Whatever she was anticipating, it's not what she gets.

_ I kinda like u_

Caitlin's jaw hurts; she's definitely grinning too hard.

_ Shut up!_

_ ..._

_ Really?_

Her heart starts racing while she waits for Mick to finish writing.

_ u think I send nettles 2 every chick I meet?_

Caitlin snorts out the most ungraceful laugh ever. She likes the way he can make her feel. She hasn't felt so good in such a long time she had started to believe she would never feel alive again, text-flirting with one of the city's most wanted supervillains, wishing he was here instead of behind a screen.

She stares at the last text for a long while, her mind spinning with little glimpses of a different life, a life where she can look forward and, instead of a dead end, she can see a future again.

_ So nettles are OUR thing?_

She worries at her lip while she waits. Mick keeps stopping in the middle of typing; and it's never a good sign. She's already panicking, afraid she's overstepped her boundaries, when Mick's reply finally pops out:

_ guess they are_

And it's nothing, really, but somehow it fills Caitlin's heart with hope. She recognises the feeling: the blissful light-headedness, the tingles in her chest, the stubborn need to smile all the time...

She could be wrong, but she has a feeling she might be falling in love.

*

The expression 'it was a dark and stormy night' is a novel-style trope whose accuracy Caitlin never actually understood until she finds herself crossing the street under a rain so heavy it hurts and a pitch-black sky that seems to swallow every light.

By the time she reaches Mick's apartment, she's drenched and so cold her bones are starting to feel like ice. Her hand is completely numb when she knocks on the door.

“Snowflake,” says Mick when he opens. He takes her in and his face morphs into a frown. “The hell were you thinkin', gettin' out with this weather? You're wet as a kitten.”

Caitlin raises Mick's jacket – the one he lended her a few days ago by the river. “I just wanted to return this but-” She sneezes into her hands. “Sorry, it's soaked.”

“_You_ are soaked,” he groans. “Get your skinny ass in here, you gonna catch somethin'.”

He unceremoniously pulls her inside and before she knows Caitlin has been stripped of her wet coat, wrapped in a fluffy blanket and shoved down into a chair in the kitchen.

“Get outta those clothes,” Mick orders then. “I'll get you somethin' from Lisa's wardrobe.”

Caitlin files under _interesting_ the information that Mick is apparently comfortable with rummaging through Lisa's stuff; she'd guessed Mick and the Snarts were close-knit, but this is way beyond sibling-level and perhaps she's a little jealous.

Mick's already seen her naked, but he doesn't look when she changes, even if she says it's not necessary. Lisa's clothes are too long for Caitlin, and too large in all those places a girl would want them to be tight, but Caitlin is too glad she's starting to feel warm again and doesn't really care about how ridiculous she must look. It's a little shocking that Lisa Snart owns mundane pieces of clothing such as sweatpants and hoodies. Caitlin bets Lisa looks like a model in those, too.

“You look like a wet street rat.”

With this tactful assessment, Mick plants a steamy mug into her hands. It smells sweet and spicy.

“Smells like Christmas,” she sighs as she inhales its comforting scent.

“How're you feelin'?” asks Mick, scrutinising her attentively.

“Better.” She takes one sip, than another. The mug is empty within a few seconds. “This spiced wine is really good.”

“Want more?” Mick offers.

“Oh, no, thanks.” Caitlin puts down her mug with a light shake of her head. “Last thing I need is getting caught DUI as I go home.”

Thing is, she doesn't want to go home. It's too comfortable and cosy, here, to go anywhere. What she would very much like right now is to sprawl on the couch next to Mick and just lie there as the TV drones in the background. The rain, outside, is raging without mercy, and thunder and lightnings punctuate the long silence stretching in the room. Until Mick says:

“You could stay.”

Caitlin blinks.

“What?”

“Ain't safe to get behind the wheel in this weather.”

Mick is staring at the floor. Caitlin can see his conflict through the nonchalant facade. He wants her to stay as much as she wants to stay.

“Wouldn't be responsible of me, I guess,” she mumbles. “I'd love to. Stay, I mean.”

“Yeah?” The hopeful glance Mick sets on her is almost painful to take.

Caitlin smiles.

“Yeah.”

They stare at each other, as if each of them is trying to decide how far they can go with this before they scare the other away. It's a game they've been playing for a while and it's starting to get old. They're adults: they should be capable of facing some stupid feelings once and for all.

“Don't get strange ideas into that little twisted head of yours,” Mick snaps. “Haven't changed my mind.”

“About what?”

“About screwin' you.”

He's trying to be grumpy, but it only brings a smile to Caitlin's lips. “How can I not get strange ideas when you're being so romantic?”

“You got the hots for the big bad guy, Snowflake?” he teases, but she can see the uncertainty behind that. He can't see what she sees.

“If only it was just that,” she says, then gives him a moment to process the meaning of her words.

Slowly, a corner of Mick's mouth curls, but when he notices Caitlin staring he quickly restores his usual frown.

“I'm gonna put on some soup for dinner.”

Caitlin's shakes her head in amusement. It's a long way to Mick Rory's heart, apparently.

She likes that it's a given that she's joining him for dinner. Mick doesn't even have to ask: everything in her body language says she's perfectly comfortable where she is, curled up in this wobbly chair with a fuzzy flannel blanket on her shoulders and a notorious criminal moving confidently around her as though she is an inherent part of his personal space.

Caitlin observes him surreptitiously from over her mug as he turns on the stove, puts a pot filled with water to boil, then proceeds to cut the vegetables he just pulled out of the fridge. She wonders if he's so passionate about cooking because it involves fire and knives, if he uses it as an outlet for pent up instincts he can't vent otherwise – not harmlessly, at least.

If this is the case, she's got to give the guy some credit.

“You got a problem with my greens, kid?” he asks when he sees her staring.

“I'm impressed by your greens,” Caitlin says.

Mick huffs. “Doesn't take much to make an impression with you.”

She watches him move the chopped vegetables into the boiling water; he's careful, surgically so. Caitlin observes the scars on his hands, thinks of the story behind them and the man who wears them as a memento. His love for fire turned on him, but he loves it all the same, and it takes a lot of courage, Caitlin believes, to keep loving something that almost burned you away.

“I wouldn't say so,” she whispers, and she's not sure Mick can hear her. She's not sure he'd understand what she really means, anyway.

“You still cold?”

Caitlin flinches, startled by Mick's voice suddenly interrupting her musings. He's wiping his hands into the towel again, watching her from across the table. In her haze, Caitlin finds herself wondering if it's the beginning of a fever making her so giddy or if it's something else entirely.

“Will you warm me up if I say yes?”

Mick freezes. His gaze caresses her, a mute question trapped in it.

Caitlin wants to say so many things, wants to beg him not to look at her like that – like he's afraid he might taint her if he touched her – but the words die in her throat when Mick throws away the towel and walks up to her, the unspoken question still lingering in his eyes.

Caitlin's lips have barely parted when Mick leans down and gathers her into his arms like she weights nothing. Caitlin can't take her eyes off his as he sits down without a word, holding her to his chest. His embrace feels like steel around her; his touch, however, is surprisingly delicate, as if he's afraid he could hurt her, somehow.

“This okay?”

Caitlin hates that he feels like he needs to _ask._

She curls on his lap, sighing against his neck as her hand rises to cup his cheek.

“Wonderful,” says softly. “No wonder they call you Heatwave,” she adds smugly. “You're hotter than a furnace.”

The mischievous retort she was aiming to get never comes. Mick is quiet, still. Caitlin can almost hear his stream of thoughts.

“Mick?” she begins, her voice small and tentative. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, staring ahead of himself. His fingertips dig a little tighter into Caitlin's thigh and into her arm. “It's just...” He makes a long pause, then lets out a heavy sigh. “Feels good, doesn't it?”

Caitlin feels like she might burst. This is... acknowledgement. Something has been happening in the last few weeks, but so far both she and Mick have been tiptoeing around it, hiding behind jokes and shameless flirtations. They're so close to turning everything around, now...

All it takes is one step.

One small, single step.

“Yes,” she whispers. “Yes, it does.”

She tips her head back just as he hesitantly turns to her. She can feel the change in his heartbeat as neatly as she can feel her own. Her hand cups his face and her thumb traces a feather arc across his cheek. She loves the way his stubble feels under her palm.

Mick's eyes are fixing her closely, something between panic and hope shimmering in them.

“You gonna kiss me, Snowflake?”

And by now Caitlin is pretty positive she has a fever running, because everything is suddenly hot and misty, and she's so weak...

“May I?” she asks, even though she's already reaching out. Mick hooks two fingers under her chin, stops her for a second to observe her, then the hint of a smile, almost shy, stretches his lips.

“Can't say no if you ask so politely.”

So she kisses him.

His lips are surprisingly gentle, tender. Caitlin doesn't know if she's shivering from the cold in her bones or because she wasn't expecting this kiss to feel so intimate and delicate. She thought she was hungry, craving to touch and be touched, but as her lips brush over Mick's agan and again she comes to realise that her yearning, her cold, her hunger... they all come from an emptiness she buried deep inside her. An emptiness that is now filling with warmth and light.

She didn't know emptiness could _burn._

She melts into Mick's embrace, lets his heat wash over her, drain the cold away. Her hands are small at the sides of his neck, his hands are large enough to cover her whole back as he pulls her closer and sighs into her mouth.

She rests her forehead against his when they pull apart to catch their breath. His eyes are dark and watch her from behind a patina of doubt.

“Don't you dare look at me like that,” she warns softly. “This is not a mistake. Understood?”

Mick nods, but the doubt clouding his expression is still there. Caitlin is only mildly discouraged.

It's going to take time, she's aware, and it's not like she's in a hurry.

A thunder roars outside. Caitlin snuggles contentedly into Mick's arms.

She's not going anywhere.

*

_Too much light,_ she notes as her eyes sleepily flutter open.

She knows this bed, and this room, and the scent of these sheets. She just can't place them, as of now. Her mind is blurry, misty with tiredness. She feels hot and cold at the same time.

“You okay?” asks a gravelly voice coming from behind her.

Caitlin makes a terrible effort to turn around under the heavy blanket. Her body feels limp and exhausted.

“Where am I?” she slurs. She knows where she is... sort of. She just needs to focus...

“My bed,” Mick conveys. He's is looming above her with something in his hands – a tray. He brought her breakfast.

“Oh.” Caitlin doesn't remember much of what happened after they kissed. She's glad she remembers that, at least. “Did we-”

“I slept on the couch,” Mick clarifies. “You fell asleep while the soup was cookin', didn't have the heart to wake you.”

The phrasing causes a warm flutter in Caitlin's chest. She also realises that he left the bed to her, even though they've slept together before – figuratively and literally. He didn't have to and Caitlin wouldn't have minded sharing (all the contrary), but this gentlemanly gesture makes her all fuzzy inside.

She must have fallen asleep straight in his arms, last night, and Mick must have carried her here. The mental picture of him picking her up bridal-style makes her blush so hard she's afraid he'll notice. She's glad he can't seem to be able to look at her right now.

“You hungry?” he inquires, looking down at the tray.

Caitlin spots orange juice, pancakes and tea. There's also a couple of aspirins next to a glass of water. Oh, she's going to need those.

“I'm starving,” she admits, flashing him a smile. She probably looks terrible, having slept with her make up on and everything, but the way Mick looks at her as he helps her sit up tells her he's of a different opinion. He settles the tray on her lap and only sits down after Caitlin remarks he doesn't have to just stand there.

“You eat a lot for bein' so tiny,” Mick comments while she cuts a big chunk of pancakes. The mere smell of them is already making her feel better.

“It's just because you make delicious food,” she says as she chews. She shouldn't be talking with her mouth full, but Mick is smirking and doesn't seem to mind.

“You tryin' to seduce me, Snowflake?”

Caitlin swallows, takes the two aspirins and washes them down with a sip of water, then raises the glass to Mick.

“Yes. Thanks for noticing.”

His smirk spreads. Caitlin's heart swells.

Big, bad guy indeed. She can hardly believe this is the same person who once kidnapped her and strapped a bomb to her. Life does play some twisted jokes, sometimes. And it's not like she's not perfectly conscious this man is a criminal who's killed people, including his own family, but the Mick Rory she used to know is not the same Mick Rory who became a Legend and helped save the world multiple times. He's got some red in his ledger, but so does she, and there are feelings, here, way stronger than old grudges.

Caitlin runs her finger across the plate to collect the last few drops of syrup and lets out an ecstatic moan as she licks it. Mick laughs low in his throat, a sound that is both heart-warming and disturbingly sinful.

She really, really wants to kiss him right now.

She holds her breath when he leans forward; she's ready and eager, but Mick, instead of kissing her, swipes his thumb over her lip then brings it to his mouth to suck some syrup off it. The gesture is so natural and erotic it makes Caitlin unbearably thirsty.

“I'll get you some more,” says Mick, as if nothing happened. He takes the empty plate and walks out, leaving Caitlin paralysed and kind of aroused.

She's a goner for this guy, for the kindness he hides behind the persona he's built over the years. Caitlin feels privileged to have been given a chance to see through this mask; it's a bit like restoring an old painting: with time and patience, the dirt and the dust start coming off and the true colours come out, almost forgotten but not really gone.

So maybe she's a little smitten with the guy.

Alright, maybe she's in love.

And maybe scratch maybe.

*

“Are you sure you can put _nettles_ into risotto?”

Mick gives Caitlin a sideways glare. She may be a doctor, but he's the cook, here, and he won't accept lectures from an amateur.

“I thought you liked nettles,” he objects, throwing the finely shredded leaves into the pot. Caitlin's kitchen is larger than his and cooking seems more complicated with so much room and so many things around. But Caitlin is a good helper, despite her limited culinary experience.

“When they're in bloom,” says Caitlin. “And decently arranged inside a vase? Yes. In my plate? Not so much.” He loves how she scrunches her nose when she's perplexed. “Are you _really_ sure-”

“Who d'you think you're talkin' to? I know my food, kid.”

“Okay, okay,” Caitlin giggles. “This is a side of Italian cuisine I wasn't aware of.”

Mick stirs the risotto. “I got a lot to teach you, then.”

He doesn't know when he got so domesticated. He never pictured himself making lunch with a woman by his side, let alone a woman who looks at him like he hung the moon or something. Mick didn't do anything to deserve this, to be looked at like this: Caitlin is a good person, an honest, kind-hearted girl who shouldn't see anything but trash in him, and yet he she is, sweet and beautiful, making him feels like he's actually worth the affection she's been giving him.

“That sounds a lot like long-term commitment,” she purrs, sliding an arm around his waist. She rubs her face against his arm and laughs as he says:

“'t's not.”

“Just admit it, you old grump,” she insists. “You like spending time with me.”

Mick snorts. It's such an understatement it wouldn't even be a lie if he said no. He _loves_ spending time with her. He just doesn't know how to say it. He can barely accept it. He's never felt like this before.

“You're illusional,” he retorts. He puts the lid over the pot and turns the heat down to a low simmer.

“Delusional,” Caitlin corrects with a tone that implies she isn't buying any of his bullshit.

“Same thing.”

“It's really not.”

They've grown so comfortable with each other that Mick barely remembers what it was like in the beginning, when all they wanted from each other was sex and perhaps some company over a drink. He still can't understand what she sees in him, but he can tell her feelings, however unbelievable and unjustified, are real and genuine.

“Why you lookin' so smug?” he asks when he notices the subtle grin painted across her face.

“Nothing,” she says, blushing a little. She rises to her tiptoes to drop a quick peck over his cheek. “Can't wait to see what this infamous nettle risotto tastes like.”

Mick is embarrassed by how nervous he is about this. He probably identifies too much with a stupid dish made with weeds. With hindsight, he should have known better: how could he not fall for a girl who turns down roses and cherishes ugly, half-dead cacti?

It was a hopeless case to begin with.

Without thinking, he brushes a kiss on top of her head, he doesn't even know why. Maybe he's just trying to make up for all the things he feels but can't seem to be able to say. He hopes Caitlin can read through his disastrous communication issues.

*

“Okay, so maybe you do know what you're doing.”

Of the whole stash of risotto Mick made – enough for six – there's only a little left at the bottom of the pot. After her first plate, Caitlin kept saying 'Just a little more', and by now she's more or less eaten the equivalent of three plates.

“This stuff is delicious,” she purrs, and the sound coming from low in her throat does things to Mick.

“Stop makin' those noises, Snowflake,” he scolds, but she isn't even paying attention to him.

“Oh my god, this is so good! Mick, you're a kitchen god, I swear.”

He'd lie if he said her words aren't making him quite smug. “Flatter me all you like, I ain't gonna sleep with you,” he quips.

She takes it a little too seriously. Thing is, he hasn't actually slept with her since that time in the alley behind the pub. Whenever he thinks about it, he shudders at the memory of her bruises and the blood between her legs. He doesn't want that to ever happen again and he won't risk it if he isn't sure he can control himself.

“Okay, this is getting ridiculous.” She puts down her fork and crosses her arms over the table. She looks pretty angry. “Do you really believe that's all I want from you?”

He says nothing, so Caitlin goes on: “You seriously think you're just my... my enemy with benefits?”

He shrugs. “What else would you want?”

“You do realise there's a whole person under all those layers of muscles and rudeness?”

“No. First time I hear about it.”

“Stop being a stubborn idiot!” Caitlin spits. She _is_ angry. “We're good together!”

Her cheeks are turning an intense shade of pink. She's cute when she's mad.

“Are we?”

“Are you kidding me?” Caitlin springs up from her chair and slams her hands against the table, nostrils flaring. “We've been basically dating for weeks!”

She always takes it too personally when he doubts himself. She's so passionate when she reminds him what she likes about him... teasing her about it is his guilty pleasure.

His chest starts shaking with a very badly stifled laugh. Caitlin's features freeze and gradually relax when she figures it out.

“You little-” she starts, but she ends up laughing with him. “I hate you,” she says, throwing her napkin at his face.

Mick catches it mid-air. “No, you don't,” he argues. “I dunno why, but you don't.”

Caitlin circles the table to snatch her napkin back, then whips it across his arm.

“You don't know why, huh?” She sits on his lap and swats his chest. “Jerk. I can write you an essay, if it helps.”

“Boring.”

“Power Point presentation?” she offers. “Flash cards? Diagram? I'm creative, I'm sure we can find-”

Mick clasps a hand over her mouth.

“You just never shut up, do you?”

“Nuh-huh.”

“Thought so,” he whispers, then takes her head into his hands and pulls her into a hungry kiss.

Caitlin moans into his mouth, tilting her head back to give him a better angle. His tongue traces her lower lip, a touch so gentle it makes her shiver in pleasure. She clings to his wrists, chasing his lips when he tries to pull back just enough to catch his breath. When they break apart, dizzy and breathless, he rests his forehead against hers and lets out a throaty sigh.

“I don't like what you're doing to me, Snowflake.”

Every sound he pronounces brushes against her lips, tickling, teasing. Caitlin's fingers dip in his wrists as she reaches out to claim another kiss.

“Too bad,” she mutters. “Because I'm loving it.”

She folds her arms around his neck and pulls him into another kiss. It doesn't take long before she's straddling him and rocking into his hardening crotch.

“So,” she pants huskily. “Are we taking this to bed or we're just gonna do it on the table?”

“We're not-”

“Yes, we are. And I'm going to show you the difference between fucking and making love.”

*

They lie there for long minutes without saying a word, spent and satisfied. Catching their breath takes longer than it ever did before.

Caitlin feels sore all over her body, but it's a new kind of soreness. A blissful one.

Mick rolls to his side to look at her with eyes strikingly dark. There are creases of concern all across his forehead.

“Did I hurt you?”

Smiling, Caitlin shifts closer to him and drops a soft kiss on his lips, then takes his hand and guides it down between her legs. It comes back slick, but only with her own arousal.

“What do you think?”

The grin slowly forming on Mick's lips is pleased and almost shy.

“You liked it?”

Caitlin giggles disbelievingly. “I guess I just proved that, right?”

He lays a hand on her hip, running it up her side and down her back. She snuggles up, folds an arm across his torso and rests her head over his chest, sighing contentedly.

After a while, when Caitlin is slowly drifting into sleep, she hears Mick call her.

“Snow?”

“Mmh?”

There's a pause, so long that Caitlin starts thinking that maybe she just imagined it. Then Mick says:

“Did you mean it? When you said-”

“That this isn't just sex?”

“Huh.”

Caitlin runs a hand up and down his chest, grinning.

“Is there anything you'd like to hear me say, Mr Rory?”

Mick seems to ponder the offer. “Not sure I'm ready for that.”

She laughs at the hint of terror in his voice. “Yeah, neither am I, probably.”

“That was fun, though. We should do it again, some time.”

Caitlin kisses his sternum and continues upward. “What's stopping us now?”

Mick squirms and sighs under her kisses; when her hand ventures down his abs, he grabs it and stops it just below his navel.

“Listen, kid,” he grumbles in her hair. “You're young and full of stamina, but I'm an old man. You gotta give me a few minutes if we're gonna start over again.”

Caitlin retreats her hand with a giggle and pliantly curls back beside him. “I kinda like the idea of just staying here and cuddle,” she concedes.

“I'm not a cuddler,” he tries to protest, but Caitlin drags his arm over her waist and just holds him tighter.

“You are now.”

He doesn't complain further. He lets her ghost her fingertips over his skin and, even though she knows he wants to, doesn't ask her to look away. He's not ashamed of his scars, but he's not proud of them, either. They're a permanent reminder of a part of himself he left behind long ago.

“You know who I am,” he mutters at some point.

She knows exactly what he means.

_'You know what I've done.'_

And she does. She does, and she also knows that it belongs to the past. She doesn't want to look back anymore, not for him, nor for herself.

“I know who you used to be and who you've become,” she rephrases patiently.

“And despite that,” he insists. “You still want me?”

“Mick,” she laughs. They've been over this so many times and still he can't seem to open his eyes. “I don't think you understand: I want you _because of_ that.”

He glances down on her with furrowed brows. “You ain't makin' any sense, kid.”

Caitlin cranes her neck to press a lazy kiss to his jawline.

“Don't worry about that,” she soothes. “Makes perfectly sense to me.”

*

A week later, she gets a string of frantic texts from Cisco as she's heading to work:

_ dude_

_ DUDE_

_ WTF_

_ like_

_ did you make enemies in the mob or something???_

_ CAITY_

_ I'M SERIOUS FFS_

_ why's there A WHOLE FUCKING BRAMBLE TREE IN THE LAB_

_ with a RIBBON_

_ and your name on it?????_

_ ..._

_ yo??_

_ …_

_ caity???_

**Author's Note:**

> Did you make it this far? Congrats! I'm pretty sure everyone will drop this endless mess halfway through, but thanks for trying, anyway.
> 
> Hope you liked this half as much as I liked writing this.


End file.
